Damien arched an eyebrow, lips curving into the faintest, most dangerous of smiles. "Do they now?" he asked.
"But…" Richard's pause was deliberate. He stepped closer. "Some of us in the council may already be constructing your coffin and giving your throne to Gabriel." And then—he smiled. "Which is why I am very relieved to see you healthy."
Damien's gaze sharpened. "What is the council's plan?"
The councilman hesitated, his throat bobbing with a swallow. His fingers twitched at his side, betraying the nerves that his polished voice tried to mask. "I shouldn't say this," he began, almost wringing his hands together before steadying himself. "I shouldn't be telling you—goddess knows, I risk much in speaking so plainly. But you of all people understand the dangers of letting the throne fall into Gabriel's hands. If the tide turns fully his way, we all stand at the edge of ruin. I have no choice but to warn you."
